Sometime Around Midnight
by Daysi5
Summary: "He's turning his head, his phone in his hand, when he catches a glimpse of someone familiar that makes his raw, beating heart stop cold." Zach Goode did nothing but love her. She turned around and broke him. This is the story of what she left behind; a shattered man. No spies; just broken hearts.


A/N::: Something that was floating in my cranium for a while :) I am much indebted to Kiwiosity, who Beta-ed this and found all my mistakes. Any lingering mistakes are mine :/

Disclaimer::: I don't own the series, or the song by **The Airborne Toxic Event **- seriously AMAZING band!

Enjoy!

* * *

_And it starts...  
Sometime around midnight_

"Hey man, lighten up. Have a drink or two," a grinning, slightly drunk man claps his friend on the shoulder, stumbling with a small "oof" as he knocks over a stool. "Ah, I see you've made friends with the ol' barkeep." The drunken oaf winks at the stone-faced man who ignores him.

The hunched over gentleman glances at his friends' swaying posture, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he pushes away the shot glasses and money in front of him. "You're drunk." The handsome man laughs in response, sending a seductive glance to a passing group of women.

"_So are you_" he responds in a singsong voice after they've passed. The gentleman shakes his head in response, proving his coordination. But the friend ignores him, eyeing a woman across the lit up dance floor.

The gentleman tugs at his hair impatiently, letting out a strained breath. "Grant, it's already past midnight. I thought we were done playing these games when we got real jobs." He pulls at his already loose tie insistently, feeling sweat gather at his temple as the bar begins to crowd. When his joker of a friend refuses to acknowledge his words, he hops from his stool with ease, slipping his blazer off his shoulders, his long sleeved shirt dampening with sweat. _God, it's so fucking hot in here. _

"I'm leaving," he says, turning towards the door. "Recap me on any drunken falls that I miss."

"But you're my wingman," the joker protests, stomping his foot like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. "You promised you'd help me get laid tonight." His staggered attempt to stop his friend ends up in his near face-plant, had it been for the gentleman who nearly loses his cool after catching the drunk.

"Deal's off," he sighs, propping his comrade against the nearby wall. The handsome lout slides against it to a crouch, his head lolling to the side. "You can't even hold up your own head. I'm calling Jonas."

_Or at least that's when  
You lose yourself  
For a minute or two_

He's turning his head, his phone in his hand, when he catches a glimpse of something familiar that makes his raw, beating heart stop cold. The sight of something so _heart wrenching _leads him to lose all ability to think, as he finds himself suspended in a white oblivion, watching her across the white expanse. He finds that he is weightless in this realm; his body is turning every which way, up or down do not exist.

_As you stand...  
Under the barlights_

And then he's crashing; the pureness of his loss is gone, and he's falling hard, back into reality. Back into the prison of his body and mind as the glaring lights blind him temporarily. His senses are on mute, as his vision tunnels and his only focus is on the girl spinning across the room, the girl who lets out a vibrant laugh that reaches his ears, soul, inner thoughts.

_And the piano's this melancholy sound check  
To her smile_

_She's here. _The man watches with a frozen gaze as she continues to dance, his exist beyond her peripheral. _She's happy. _His eyes follow her red lips that curve into a smile, a smile that nearly breaks anything left of his heart. The background music fades into a slow, alluring melody that fits the look in her eyes and the grin of her lips.

_And that white dress she's wearing  
You haven't seen her  
For a while_

His gaze slips down the body he once held, immediately recognizing the dress she wore. It was white, matching that of the bride. But hers was knee-length and fluttery and made her appear angelic, as if she only just fell from the heavens. Her legs were tanner; he noted to himself, her teeth are brighter. _Why isn't anyone intervening? _He wonders, still lost in thought. _Why is no one stopping me from walking over there and doing something? _But there was someone; the man who caressed her face and body in his arms, was preventing him from committing himself to a mental institution.

_But you know...  
That she's watching_

The gentleman, finally grasping his elusive senses, backpedals back into the shadows beside his snoring roommate, who he trips over unintentionally, sending him in a lurch backwards. He winces as he slams back into the wall, avoiding the glances shot his way.

_She's laughing, she's turning  
She's holding her tonic like a cross_

From beneath his brown locks, he sees her take notice to his flail. From thirty feet away, he takes in how rosy her cheeks are from the alcohol she clutches against her breast as she spots his awkward figure leaning against the wall.

_The room suddenly spinning_

The laughter dissipates from her eyes as their eyes lock; neither can look away from the other. He is too afraid and hopeful to break it; she is too shocked to try. But he closes his eyes; he cannot go through this again. The place that has become his personal hell begins to betray him, throwing him off his feet as he ends up with a thump against his buddy Grant. His eyes are closed as the music pounds all around him, the lights painting the underside of his eyelids with psychedelic shades of the rainbow.

_She walks up and asks how you are_

A shadow hovering over him stops the attack of the rainbow, but the man refuses to open his eyes. He just wants to go back to the way things were, and somehow avoid the conversation that will happen.

"Zach?" He digs his fingernails into his skin. "Zach," she repeats, no longer doubting his existence. "Zach, how are you?" The question is soft-spoken, but the effects are catastrophic to his mind as he uses to wall to haul himself up, his eyes still sealed shut.

_So you can smell her perfume  
You can see her lying naked in your arms_

Because the heady scent of her perfume and her very presence reminds him of everything he's lost this past year. He doesn't want to see her up close; he would lose any and all self-control he managed to grasp onto these last seconds. _Go away. _He snaps his eyes open, no longer able to stay selfless; he must see her, he _must. _He lets his eyes roam her body, imagining holding her close, nothing in between them, how he held her when things were blissful. Her skin against his and the electricity that flowed between them; how his mouth felt against her neck, her lips, her stomach. How their naked bodies had been molded for each, in complete harmony.

His hand bleeds from the pressure of his nails; he holds it out of sight.

_And so there's a change...  
In your emotions_

Her hand inches out to his shoulder, repeating her question. The dazed look in his eyes has her concerned; she knew he was a drinker, but she also knew he could hold his alcohol. He hardly ever got drunk. But what she didn't know was that the shots only added to the drunken madness in his mind. With a quick motion, his callous palm was on her cheek and she gasps, the coldness of his hand sending shocks through her body. They stood there, enraptured in each others' gaze as the world continued to spin around.

_And all of these memories come rushing  
Like feral waves to your mind_

She didn't know how her proximity and very existence threw his mind into a storm; how, despite his relaxed stance and lazy smirk, his fist was clenched and his muscles were coiled tight. But she felt it now, at his touch. How at this very moment, he was not in this world. In his glazed over eyes, he saw only her. He saw her in the bright yellow sundress she wore the day they took off and spent their time at the beach, just watching the happy families and staring at clouds. And the waves were coming in hard as she looked at him with her hazel eyes that smiled and shined brighter than the sun. The saltwater licked his toes as she stood up in a flurry, her arms spread open as she sang a careless tune, spinning in circles. He stood, just as they were capsized by the rising tides, but he managed to grasp her wrist as he pulled her towards his body with ease.

_Of the curl of your bodies  
Like two perfect circles entwined_

The water is murky and heavy, but he can make out her tangles of hair as she reaches him, her arms wrapping around his waist, her head leaning against his chest, their heartbeat as one. He closes his eyes and doesn't even feel the push and pull of the water as they somehow manage to breathe underwater. _Maybe we're too in love to die, _he thinks hazily, not daring to say it aloud, afraid of ruining their moment. Her body fits perfectly in his; they were puzzle pieces, lost and incomplete, until they found each other. The water begins to swirl around them, and he begins to lose a hold of her. _She is a part of me, _he tells himself, his eyes closed. _She won't leave me. _

Perhaps it was that naïve idea that kept him from realizing she had already drifted away, lost to the push and pull of the water that had become a darkness invading his vision.

_And you feel hopeless, and homeless  
And lost in the haze  
Of the wine_

"Zach." This time, when she said his name, it did not evoke any emotion from him. Her face was weary, and he dropped his hand from her cheek. His body ached when she stepped away, no longer able to feel her ragged breath against his shirt as her small hands clutched his shirt. His vision was sharper and clearer as she did not spare him a glance, turning away from him once and for all. He clenched his fist to keep from reaching out to her, forcing himself to look away as he shut his eyes and muttered profanity. But the effects of touching her, _really touching her, _and not just dreaming of it had dire effects on him. He felt drunk; his mind was hazy, his skin tingling with electricity. The man had never felt as lost and broken as he had now, as he stumbled out from the shadows for some clarity. The vomit of pulsing lights caused sharp sunbursts of pain to erupt behind his eyes as he stumbled into the open bar, banging against the wooden table.

_Exit, _he tells himself, _where the fuck is the fucking exit? _His sense of direction is lacking; he can no longer tell which way the party is, and which way the exit was as he gropes the bar table in an attempt to avoid collisions. But he knows he's going the right way; he can feel the air becoming cooler, drying the sweat on his skin and cooling what feels like a fever. By the time he spots the gaping doors, lucidness has returned to him, helping turn his stagger into a brisk pace; he wants nothing more than to reach the cold air and breathe it in and forget the whole night.

_And she leaves...  
With someone you don't know_

But of course, he must've done something to piss someone powerful off.

He's a mere ten feet away when a blur of white crosses his peripheral, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. The broken man watches as the woman he had once let himself care and love and worry about, hang off the arm of a drunk, handsome man who he did not recognize. He watches as they head towards the same exit as he is, his eyes following their giggling and tottering mass of bodies.

_But she makes sure you saw her  
She looks right at you and bolts_

He holds his head up high; he doesn't dare let her see a moment of his weakness ever again. If she spoke to him, he would snap back a nasty remark like he always had before the depression had hit. He was no longer going to dwell on a seven year relationship that he had believed had everything anyone could ever want. He was not going to give her the satisfaction of triumph over him; he was done with being brooding and sad. _I am not a broken man, _he thinks angrily, _just a pissed off one. _

He figures, with her lack of balance and rosy cheeks, she would not notice him. He was still a ways away from the door, far enough to not be noticeable. But she suddenly slows her pace, and a calm, almost tearful expression crosses her features as she turns and looks right at him. She looks at him for one, two, three seconds before turning back to her date, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

_As she walks out the door  
Your blood boiling  
Your stomach in ropes_

The last thing he sees of her is her fluttering dress trailing behind her as they cross the threshold into the starlit night. No longer high from her touch, he feels an anger swell into his body. He feels almost nauseous, his stomach turning in on itself as he doubles over as his own anger chokes him, gasping for air. His skin is bright red from rage; his body is instantly covered in sweat from the sudden rise of temperature.

_How could she? _He pounds his fist against his forehead, searching for rationality as thoughts go off in his mind. _Is she taunting me? After all the fucking suffering she's put me through, she humiliates me and runs away. Like before, always fucking running, leaving a trail of fucking pain in her wake. _The broken man stands there; his shoulders slumped, head hanging. _Does she hate me? Is that it? She decided that all those years of traveling and being together, she hates me? _He feels tired afterwards, all the anger draining down to his feet and onto the floor. The blood drains from his face as he analyzes the epiphany of a lifetime. _She hates me. _

_And when your friends say what is it  
You look like you've seen a ghost_

"Zach my man, what's u-ahh! Dude, you look fuckin' _sick."_ He recognizes the voice, belonging to a buddy of his. "Your face is pale and sweaty and stuff." The broken man feels eyes scrutinize him, but he doesn't move his eyes from the floor. "Hey, what is it? You look like you've seen a ghost." His friend sounds oddly concerned, so he spares him a look, nodding, playing off as much of a smirk as he could.

"I feel like I have." _Because the girl I once loved is dead. _

_And you walk...  
Under the streetlights_

The miniscule snowflakes land on his skin and melt, washing away an inch of grime at a time as he wanders the streets, doing his best to not fall by walking in a straight line and not looking up. The visit to the bar next door had been conscious; the ten or so shots that followed were not. He did his best to avoid the masses of bodies that seemed to just be in his way, but the street was awfully busy for it being sometime around midnight.

_And you're too drunk to notice  
That everyone is staring at you_

At one point he slipped, immediately drenching his clothes in snow that melted on his skin. He declined the offers to help him up, slurring words that sounded like the phrase "I'm ok" before falling again. This time he took his time gazing up at the stars, holding back a bark of laughter that bubbled in his chest. He ignored offers to help him, instead vaguely wondering how long it would take the police to show up. At least a day or two. _Until then,_ he resolves, _I will lay here and wait... _He left the resolution unfinished in his mind.

_And you don't care what you look like  
The world is falling  
Around you_

He hears snarls of remark meant to offend him, but he brushed them off; he was way too drunk to care. What did they know about knowing that someone you loved- no, love- hated you? He felt as if his own heart had abandoned and left him for another impossibly handsome man. He felt as if the world was crushing any smirk and confidence he had left. He felt tired and drained and drunk to care about anything. Anything except her.

_You just have to see her_

He closes his eyes and envisions her laugh, her smile.

_You just have to see her_

He can smell the scent of her skin, the feel of her body on his.

_You just have to see her_

If he closes his eyes hard enough, he can imagine what she would say if she saw him there, sprawled on the floor, possibly dying from hypothermia and a fever.

_You just have to see her_

His body aches for just a touch.

_You just have to see her_

His eyes cry for the sight of something of beautiful that broke him.

_And you know that she'll break you  
in two_

He weeps for the woman that no longer is; and the man he longs to have been, now broken by her hand.


End file.
